Understanding
by zedrobber
Summary: Sometimes you don't need words to know someone.


It's always like this with her. Always the pushing; the taunts, the vicious insults and thinly veiled insinuations in grime-splattered alleyways and across dark streets. There's never a quiet moment with us from the moment she arrives till the time she passes out on my shoulder, sated and full of glow.

I miss it when she isn't there.

I hate myself for missing it, but there it is. The street feels too quiet without her irritating whine, without the feeling of suddenly being slammed into cold brick, the sensation of all the air leaving my lungs in one great gasp as she shoves at me. Even the rage I feel, the blind anger at her arrogance, is something I miss when it's gone.

It's like a dance, you see- we fight and we fuck and we play with each other's minds, reading the moves, anticipating the next step. It's complicated and it's messy but it...it works.

The fighting is the part I love most; just like tonight. I love the way she saunters into my view, narrowing my world to the sway of her hips and the smirk on her lips in less than ten seconds. I can always tell when she appears, even if my back is turned; the rest of my crowd goes silent, knowing that I'm done with them for the night, and they slink off to wherever it is they sleep. She demands my attention in the same way a rat is fixed on the cat he knows is stalking him.

Just like a damned cat, she taunts me first, circles me, purrs at me, making sure I know my place before she begins our evening ritual.

"You look half dead, Graverobber."

"You're looking pretty ripe yourself."

"Thanks, I had it done especially for you." She circles me again, closer this time. Her boots make her as tall as me.

"Oh, you shouldn't have." She looks irritated.

I smirk and continue. "No, really. It looks like they attached a skunk to your head and smells like it wasn't quite alive at the time." I watch her bristle at that; can tell she's surreptitiously sniffing herself despite the fact all she smells like is perfume and chocolate. She always smells like chocolate; I often wonder if she's had it programmed into her DNA or some shit.

I certainly wouldn't be surprised.

"At least I didn't sleep with it first."

"Ouch, Amber. The accusations of bestiality never end. Next you'll be saying I fuck you, and that's just low. I'm hurt."

That's apparently far enough, my back hitting the bricks before I finish the sentence. I grin into her flushed face as she spits- literally spits- at me before she replies.

"I am a thousand times better than you, street rat, and you do well to remember it."

I push, turn, and have her shoved against the wall in 5 seconds, leaning in close to growl in her ear.

"Then why, my _dearest_ Amber, do you keep coming back for more?"

I run my tongue up her neck, feel her shiver before she can stop herself, and then bite down hard just to hear her moan for me. That's another part I love; that one noise she makes before her self control kicks in for a while, the first desperate moan that lets me know exactly how much she wants it.

She shoves me back, hard enough to make me stumble a little, and her eyes are sparkling in ill-disguised good humour as she prepares to battle again. She looks like a goddess at these moments- regal and sure of herself.

"Because you give me drugs without question and know how to use your cock?"

"You flatter me."

She bats her eyelashes, tries to look coy. It doesn't work. I grin anyway, step forward and press myself against her, pushing her back against the wall with my steps. She hits the brick with a soft moan, arching against it, her arms winding around my neck, in my hair. This is the second best part- the fucking.

I nuzzle against her neck, kissing the bruise I made earlier like I'm apologising. Maybe I am, for everything- the fights, the insults, the simple fact I'm a bastard and always will be. The purring mewl she makes for me is delicious, her head falling back even as her fingers tighten in my hair, allowing me access. I lick over the soft skin of her throat, then can't resist biting up to her ear, nipping at it sharply before soothing it with a kiss.

She moans, and her breath hitches. "Stop that."

I grin against her neck, kissing it once more, tenderly. She hates it when I'm gentle. Reminds her too much of lovemaking, reminds her of a normality she shouldn't have with me.

It's why I do it so often.

"Stop it, you cocksucker."

"Cocksucker? You got a new addition there, Amber? Latest surgery?"

"Shut the fuck up or I will get one next time and make you choke on it." She growls, pulls at my hair viciously, and I surprise her by dropping to my knees in front of her, smirking as her expression changes to something predatory, considering. Maybe she will, after all.

"You know you'd love it if I did," I purr back, kissing up her bare thighs, trailing my fingertips over the skin not covered by her tiny skirt or thigh high boots. She shudders, closes her eyes for a moment as I lick at her inner thigh, just too low to be of any real release, before she manages to answer.

"Whore."

"Slut."

"Bastard."

"Got that right." I bite at her, hard, and she whines, arching again as I stand up, running my hands over her on the way. She pushes against me as I pin her to the wall, fingertips splayed over the bricks either side of her shoulders, all gentleness gone as I bite at her neck and shoulder viciously, making her gasp and dig her nails into my back. This is how we work best together; the only time we work in harmony is when we're working to destroy each other. She shoves again, pushes me back so I hit the dumpster and then she's against me, her hands tugging off my coat and shirt, unfastening my belts. I hear the clink as my pants hit the concrete, and I allow her to keep me against the cold metal with one hand as she tosses them behind her. I reach out, unlace her corset with a well practised motion, and then am allowed to watch as she wriggles out of her sinfully tiny skirt.

I should remember by now that she never wears underwear when she sees me.

I never seem to remember.

I groan as she presses her body against mine again, as she winds one hand in my scarf so it chokes when she pulls it. Fuck, she always knows just how to get to me. My hands shift automatically to her hips.

This is the one time words aren't needed. We know what we want and we're both selfish enough to get it. I admit it; she doesn't. That's about the only way we differ right now, all lips and teeth and nails as she starts to unravel me, deep scratches left over my shoulder blades that won't heal for weeks. I can feel hot liquid streaming down the small of my back, and I taste it soon enough, Amber bringing her hand to her mouth, licking off my blood and kissing me viciously so I taste it too. I get it; she's claiming me, showing me who I belong to. I nip at her lips, wanting to bruise her somewhere she can't hide.

I wrap one hand around her throat, turning her head to the side roughly so I can attack her neck again; drawing blood this time, marking her as my own just as she did to me. She moans as I squeeze just a little, then gasps and arches against me as I tighten my grip and find _just_ the right pressure. Her nails dig into my back again in response, and I groan helplessly as she rolls her hips and wraps her legs around mine, inviting me to get the fuck on with it. I grab her thighs and lift her, dropping to my knees on the concrete and pushing her onto her back. She moans, stretching out on the floor like a cat by the fire, and looks up at me with eyes so dark you could drown in them. There's a pause of maybe...half a second; always is no matter what we do. Just where we look at each other, sort of...acknowledge it, maybe. And then she's got her hand on my scarf and she's pulling it towards her, effectively choking me till everything goes a bit grey and I hear the blood in my ears. She only lets me go as I push inside her, gasping in a lungful of air at the same time. Fuck, I miss this too, no lie. I miss the way her whole body rolls, arches for me, the way her hands tug and scratch at my hair, my back, my neck. I love the noises she makes, her self control gone as I fuck her brutally. This is the only time I can kiss her properly, can taste her without blood in the way, without her biting at me and telling me to fuck off. It doesn't last, of course; we always end up like this, fucking like animals, covered in blood (usually mine) and growling, scratching. She begs me for more, faster, harder, and I can do nothing but oblige, my hand tight around her throat as she comes for me, screaming hoarsely. I follow almost instantly, shuddering with the intensity I only ever seem to get with her. And fuck politeness- then I collapse onto her.

This is where my least...and most...favourite part comes in. The fucking with my head.

She pushes me off eventually, and I roll onto my back beside her. She looks human again for the first time tonight- flushed, dishevelled, and beautiful. More beautiful to me than the plastic goddess who arrives at the beginning of the night. I'd never tell her that.

I also would deny everything if you asked me why I always reach out to brush her hair from her face, why I stroke my thumb over the curve of her jaw while she watches with unreadable eyes but makes no move to stop me.

And I would never admit to the one kiss I'm allowed to give her before she shoves me away and scowls. Another expression I don't know the meaning of.

Eventually, she gets up, pulling her clothes on. I help to lace her corset, to disguise what we just did, and then I get dressed, still silently. I give her the hit she came for, usually in the neck or in her thigh, always followed by a swift lick to soothe the spark. She shivers and then she goes blank.

I hate what my drug does to people as much as I love the money and status it gives me.

She stumbles off into the night, her valets appearing from seemingly nowhere, and I'm left missing her as soon as she's gone.

It makes no sense. She's a quick fuck, a business deal. She means nothing to me.

Though...I don't even remember when I stopped asking her to pay me.

It feels like it's always been this way with us. Some fucked up excuse for ...well, it ain't love. Love is puppies and sunshine and rainbows, all that shit. This is something much less pretty, much more real.

It's funny how sometimes the one you understand the most is the thing you know the least.


End file.
